


and you won't look back

by unhappyrefrain



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Hair Braiding, Hurt/Comfort, Literal Sleeping Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-Canon, sorry for not liking eiwata
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 09:15:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9879659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unhappyrefrain/pseuds/unhappyrefrain
Summary: “...Even when I’m like this? This isn’t exactly… becoming of a jester,” he wonders aloud, a self-deprecating laughter-sigh escaping his reddened lips.You deserve more in a relationship than the promise that you will never bore them, as long as you keep performing....is what Shu thinks, but it’s too sharp and painful of a thought to mention right now. Instead, he goes with the simple. “You are no one’s dancing fool,” Shu says, prodding him (almost playfully,Wataru notes, and it coaxes a genuine, faint smile out of him.) “You have never been.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is for my dear friend tony!!
> 
> idk why barely anyone has thought abt watashu let alone watashumika poly triangle. "an equal and a friend such that I had not hoped to meet in this life!" anyone???? plus i think wataru and mika would end up getting along well. pillow fights
> 
> sorry i don't like eiwata. this is an interpretation of post-canon and a way that their relationship could progress. if you're here to comment on how it's stupid for me to not like eiwata or try to convince me that it's not at the very least unhealthy, please go away. anonymous commenting is turned off for this reason. i as an abuse survivor make my own decisions in interpreting fiction, and i make my own decisions about how i cope. plus this is a commission so you really shouldn't be telling me what i should have done in the first place.
> 
> THE ODDBALLS LOVE AND SUPPORT EACH OTHER

Leaving Eichi starts with pain. It starts with a lingering hopelessness, like he's given up on something that if he only worked harder-- _did_ more, _loved_ more-- he could have fixed. Like Eichi would have been _satisfied_ , if he had just put in effort, like he could _change_ him. It starts with self-blame, with the constant feeling of a bullet wound emptied of its bullet, the gaping absence of something that hurt but was also blocking the outflow of this kind of suffering. Leaving Eichi _hurts_ , and it hurts so badly that Wataru needs to remind himself just why he did it, before he starts questioning the most courageous decision he has ever made, before Eichi draws him back into that scorching, rapid, sickening yet thrilling orbit.

So Wataru goes, at midnight, with barely a text or a call, his hair down and undone, unusual dark circles under his eyes, down to the very strange Victorian-looking house standing in the middle of a traditional neighborhood. He has been here many times since he and Eichi began to fall apart, to visit Shu and Mika and their two cats; for months Shu has been helping Wataru plan his escape route, and now that Wataru has left, he really has nowhere else to go.

When he and Eichi were still together, both as a performing duo and as a couple, he lived at the Tenshouin mansion. Separating himself required Wataru to move back in with his adoptive parents, and although he cherishes that place (and admittedly, its luxury,) he knows it's about time for him to move on. After all, being 20 going on 21 and living with your parents isn't exactly seen as a success. (Even if said parents would gladly let you stay forever.)

He turns the corner, and up past a little path of stepping stones is the entrance to the Valkyrie estate, a deep maroon door with a brass ring knocker and stained glass windows obscuring the inside. A little shyly, he takes the knocker into his hand (he knows both Shu and Mika are always startled by the doorbell) and taps, firmly yet hesitantly.

Immediately, he can hear the scrabbling of feet over wooden floors from inside-- the house echoes, and it's an old structure that you can hear and feel creaking when any door opens or closes. A very blue eye peers through the peephole, and Kagehira Mika grins as he opens the door.

"Hibiki-senpai!" he exclaims, again being a little too polite with the appellation. (Wataru has told him countless times to just call him Wataru, but Mika shies and blushes away from the privilege of that familiarity.) His mismatched eyes sparkle as he holds the door open for Wataru, but not before leaning down to catch a mischievous black cat that tried to use the opportunity to dash out the door. "Uh-uh," he scolds, picking up the cat and booping its little pink nose. "Ya little sneak, y'can't go out there, remember last time when Nakkun had ta summon you back? No good. Ahh, sorry, Hibiki-senpai, Oddy's bein' a little naughty today..." Mika laughs bashfully, cradling the cat in his arms, petting behind its ears until it snuggles into him. "Y'don't look too good," he points out, mouth creasing in worry.

"Mm, I've just not slept as well lately," Wataru explains. He may as well be honest while he's under Shu's roof. "Would you mind taking me to your Oshi-san, if he's quite free at the moment?"

Mika nods, looking back at Wataru to make sure he's following, still holding the cat in his arms as he walks up the stairs. "He ain't in the best mood today, but he never minds talkin' to ya, so I think yer alright."

More relieved than he probably should be at that affirmation, Wataru follows Mika, up to the closed door of the sewing room where Shu usually works. Mika keeps a tight grip on the cat when he knocks.

"Oshi-saaan," he singsongs. "Hibiki-senpai's here, he wants ta see ya~"

"Come in, then," is the reply, strangely gentle yet loud enough to get past the door. Mika opens the door, still gripping the cat to make sure he doesn't roll all over Shu's fabrics, and Wataru walks in, strangely hesitant.

Shu notices it immediately-- the bags beneath Wataru's tired eyes, the lightlessness in him, his usual carefree manner absent. Mika nods, closes the door, apparently able to tell this is something just between them, at least for now.

And so Wataru and Shu are alone together, the space between them begging to be closed, the silence only interrupted by the tatting sound of a sewing machine as Shu works.

Wataru feels awkward, bumbling all of a sudden-- he shouldn't have disturbed, Shu is obviously busy, there's not much he has to say anyway, he only really needed company, needed to be held-- but Shu finishes the stitches, turns the machine off, and turns to Wataru, standing nervously in the doorway. "Come in, sit next to me," he offers, his voice quiet with invitation and affection, and Wataru does, approaching the seat next to Shu at his workspace, the seat usually reserved for Mika. He pulls it out, sits down, and before he can stop it, his head falls with a heavy _thunk_ between his arms onto the desk.

"Wataru," Shu says, warningly, sternly-- and yet the warm hand on his shoulder is enough to dispel any worry that Shu is angry with him. Wataru sighs, long and dramatized, into his arms. "Wataru. Lift your head, and look at me."

"Do I really deserve to leave...?"

Wataru's words are muffled into the table, and yet they stab, pierce, hurt. They come from a pained place, and Shu knows it, he knows how desperately Wataru has been trying to find his footing since leaving that blasted Tenshouin, but it doesn't make it hurt any less to hear Wataru doubt himself so badly. "Of course you deserve to leave," Shu reassures, though his voice, too, is shaking-- the knowledge that Wataru had fallen so deeply into Eichi's vortex that he still cannot entirely convince himself that leaving is better for him, that thought is terrifying. Because if there's anyone who makes their own decisions without letting others influence them, it would be Wataru, and yet...

And yet, Wataru is hurting. Wataru is afraid. Wataru didn't even know how to come to Shu about this matter in the first place. The first text Wataru sent Shu in over a year, when Eichi's possessiveness stopped being romantic and started being dangerous, when he couldn't think of anyone else to run to-- his first text began with _I know you hate me, but I need your help._

And the first text Shu sent Wataru in over a year, when Wataru was suddenly in Shu's life after what felt like an eternity of silence save the one time they had met up at FlowerFes, began with a _where did you get the idea that I hated you?_

And Wataru knew. He suddenly knew. Eichi had told him, the whole time-- the other Oddballs were fine, he couldn't stop Wataru from loving them, being in their presence, but Shu and only Shu was off limits. Shu hated him. Shu wasn't at the Live, he wasn't there to see how Wataru joined fine-- to end the War for good, to keep his beloved Oddballs safe-- and he still thought Wataru was a traitor. Shu was disgusted with Wataru. Shu didn't want him back.

But when did Shu himself ever say any of that?

It was worse than he thought.

 

The realization stuns Wataru into tears, and he chokes back a sob, hunching his shoulders forward even more as he tries to restrain his breath. But Shu knows, just by the way his body shrinks into itself, the stutter in his measured breathing, Shu can see behind the mask.

“Wataru,” he tries. He feels fumbling, awkward, unsure how to comfort his dear friend ( _and almost-lover_ , he thinks, but shakes that thought away) and settles for gently scooting his seat closer and taking Wataru into his arms. Wataru curls up, clutching his knees, and sobs for real, and the sound breaks Shu’s heart-- he gathers Wataru in close, unable to stop the way his pulse panics at the thought of Wataru in this much pain. “Let me-- let me hold you, stop it, come _here_.”

Wataru’s arms, still looped around his knees, drop loosely to his ankles. His face is still hidden when Shu’s hands-- perfect, talented, _gentle--_ layer over his, gently tug them apart and enlace their fingers. Wataru sags into Shu’s arms, finally, leaning up against him and weeping silent tears into the ruffles of his shirt. Shu rubs soothing circles into his back, slowly stroking away the hiccups and shallow gasps until Wataru’s breathing returns to normal. He curls a strand of silver-blue hair around his finger, marveling at the silken-soft texture, the ethereal, gossamer quality to it-- as if it could fade away, as if Wataru himself could disappear at any moment.

Wataru visibly relaxes once Shu’s hands are in his hair. He sags, exhaling shakily, and presses a little closer, letting Shu comb through it with his fingers.

“You haven’t done your hair at all,” Shu comments, sorting out three sections of hair without even looking. “Mm, remember when I used to braid it for you?”

Wataru huffs a warm smile. “Of course I remember. It always calmed me down, you know.”

“I could always tell,” Shu replies. “Here, turn to face me, I’ll do your left braid…”

Wataru complies, smiling, keeping his head down and eyes behind his hair so as not to show the aftermath of the recent flood. Shu separates the hair next to his bangs into three, then deftly weaves each into the middle. Over, under, and his fingers follow a familiar movement, a muscle memory from a distant, shining past. It feels like coming home, sharing this gentle moment, Shu’s hands easily braiding the silken hair, and Wataru feels something old and warm come back to life in his chest. Like dusting off an old jewelry box, kept in the attic for so long; retrieving something beautiful that still glitters where it was sealed.

Of course he’s always felt this way. He’s felt this way since they met. His lungs tighten, his heart clenches in a moment of wistful pain, the kind that he remembers as being sweet and deep, and Shu holds the braid with one hand as he reaches over for a piece of ribbon with the other. He ties a bow around the end of the braid, a purple ribbon acting as a hairtie.

The shaking begins anew, the tears start to burn, and Wataru looks down at the meticulous braid, marveling at how perfect it is, tied up in a little bow. He silences a whimper, knowing he doesn’t deserve it, and he can’t help but blurt-- impromptu, provoked by nothing save the proud, warm smile of satisfaction on Shu’s face--

“I never had the chance to tell you I loved you, back then.”

Shu’s heart drops straight through his stomach. Tears well at his eyes almost immediately.

“Neither did I,” he admits, reaching a hand back to stroke Wataru’s hair, push it behind his ear.

Wataru barely has time to question-- _you what? For me? Has it always been this way?_ \-- before Shu actually _pleads_ in a low whisper, “Look up, Wataru, look at me.”

Bashfully, he does, just a little, just enough to brush a glance over Shu’s eyes from under his reddened eyelids, and that’s when--

 

that’s when Shu kisses him.

So softly, so tenderly, as if afraid to crush him, that Wataru feels warmth spread through his bones, feels it rush to the surface of his skin. Shu’s hands are still resting over his shoulders, and Wataru can feel their heat, the heat of Shu pressing closer, and it overwhelms him. Eichi’s hands were always cold, chilling him to the bone, the hands of Death always pulling him in, and this kind of warmth is unfamiliar after so long-- _but Shu has always been like this,_ he remembers, _he has always been so alive._

And then it’s over as abruptly as it began-- Shu pulls back, afraid, panicking, and starts to apologize. “I shouldn’t have, ignore me, I should go--”

But Wataru isn’t having any of that, and kisses him again, surging up and forward to meet Shu’s lips in the middle of a panicked apology. Immediately Shu stops shaking, relieved, because that’s more of a _yes yes yes, please kiss me again_ than any hesitancy or refusal. Something in him still wavers-- the fear that he’s taking advantage of Wataru’s emotional state right now, the fear of Wataru using him as a rebound, but that can wait. It can wait until this moment, this small forever, inevitably ends.

The kiss is soft, relatively chaste, not so deep as to suggest anything more but just open and passionate enough to fill Wataru with a tingling sort of giddiness. Gentle, slow movements of their lips against each other, his chest pressing up against Shu so close that he can feel his pulse against his own, chaotic and out of sync, alive. Shu’s hands tentatively curl into his hair, softly between the strands, letting them fall between his fingers-- the tenderness, the care in that one action shakes Wataru to his core, and he feels some sort of shield crack like an eggshell inside him.

In an instant he realizes what it is-- his ever-present, ever-smiling mask, never crying, never suffering on the outside, always agreeing, always enthusiastically serving. Never saying no. Never denying his audience what they want.

He doesn’t know he’s crying until he tastes salt between their lips.

Shu pulls away, obviously startled but more concerned, and thumbs the tear from Wataru’s cheek before it can trace down to his chin.

“On the stage and off, I...”

Shu can’t quite complete the sentence. He hopes it makes sense, hopes Wataru can understand the way he always has, can feel the obvious ending to the thought that he knows can’t leave his lips. Thankfully, Wataru nods, leans into him, their foreheads pressing together.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he reminds Shu, taking a long breath in, trying to regain any composure left in him. “...Even when I’m like this? This isn’t exactly… becoming of a jester,” he wonders aloud, a self-deprecating laughter-sigh escaping his reddened lips.

_You deserve more in a relationship than the promise that you will never bore them, as long as you keep performing._

...is what Shu thinks, but it’s too sharp and painful of a thought to mention right now. Instead, he goes with the simple. “You are no one’s dancing fool,” Shu says, prodding him ( _almost playfully,_ Wataru notes, and it coaxes a genuine, faint smile out of him.) “You have never been.” And then, quietly, as if he’s afraid to say it: “If you want to, we can…”

“ _Yes,_ ” Wataru breathes, dropping his head, breath lost once again in the idea, “I do, I do want to, I want to… be with you…”

“Are you sure? So soon after… I don’t want to hurt you.” The soft hand in Wataru’s hair is back, running up through the back of his scalp.

“You could never hurt me, not like he did.” Wataru shivers for a moment, then relaxes at the touch. _Safe_. _Safe here. With you._

“This isn’t just an impulsive decision?”

Wataru shakes his head. “I already told you. That I had no opportunity to tell you then.” Shu can see spots of teardrops on Wataru’s lap.

“Wataru, you have to be sure.”

Shu takes Wataru’s face in his hands and looks him in the eyes, the color so similar yet different from his, and sees-- Wataru looks resolved. Tearful, overflowing with emotion, but resolved.

“I am sure.”

And then Wataru bites his lip, looks away, forehead creased with the worry that came on so rapidly. “Ah, but-- the little crow, what about…”

Shu considers this for a moment, remembers Mika clinging to him on the Halloween stage, calling Shu his, sticking his tongue out at Natsume-- and then Mika’s eyes sparkling with excitement when Shu told him about the Oddball reunion live, concerned about Mika’s reaction at Shu going off to perform without him, but seeing the boundless smile on his face and then the affirmative “why would I ever stop ya from somethin’ that great? It’ll be awesome, can I come to watch?!” And Mika’s instant cheer whenever Wataru came around, introducing their cats to him, running across the house to answer the door, crying sometimes at night next to Shu in their concern for Wataru… How they always seemed to radiate each other's sparkle, reflect each other in their brightness until every corner of Shu’s moonlit world was illuminated...

 _How strange it is,_ Shu thinks amusedly, _that I am always drawn to those like the sun_.

“He cares for you, and loves you very much. We can discuss it with him; I’m quite sure he would approve of the arrangement.” Shu is resolute, firm in his belief, and Wataru feels soothed just seeing him so assured. _Well, you know him best after all._

“Right now?”

“No, he should be asleep… You may stay the night if you’d like,” Shu suggests, a slight blush on his face, but Wataru knows he’s not suggesting anything other than sleep, than a deep and well-deserved rest. “You haven’t brought anything else with you, though, have you?”

“Admittedly, no,” Wataru laughs. “Not even a change of clothes, though I can sleep in almost anything.”

“I believe you, seeing how tired you are.” Shu smiles, worriedly, brushing the dark circles under Wataru’s eyes with a gentle thumb. “Mika has taken to sleeping in my room, so his bed is unoccupied, unless you’d rather sleep on the couch…”

“How big is your bed?”

“Quite large, actually--” And then Shu realizes what Wataru had just suggested, and flushes, averts his eyes.

“Then I will gladly take you up on that offer!” Wataru grins, throws his arm out and lets a flurry of rose petals scatter from his sleeve.

“What offer! I never said anything!”

Wataru notes that Shu’s indignation doesn’t mean much when _he’s_ the one dragging him by the elbow out of the sewing room and down the hall to the master bedroom.

 

 

* * *

 

As Shu expected, the moment Wataru slips into bed next to him, he falls asleep. Also as Shu expected, Wataru takes up much more room on the bed than Mika ever has. Unconscious, he splays out quite like a starfish, and Shu is thankful Mika curls up into a little ball when he sleeps, since if Mika took up any more room, he would certainly be falling off the bed by now.

He feels the sleepy nuzzle of Mika’s head into his back, and turns over gently, cradling him, feeling the very familiar, regular swell of Mika’s breathing.

What Shu does not expect, however, is Wataru also turning over and throwing a long arm over both of them. His legs are still askew and taking up unnecessary surface area, but he’s closer now, and by the slow, quiet pace of his breathing, Shu deduces he’s still sleeping.

Softly, Shu prays to whoever is listening.

_This feels more right than anything-- please let this work out._

_Please let this be forever._

  


**Author's Note:**

> find me and more watashumika material on twitter @watashumika (yes i changed my handle. yes it is magnificent)


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